Good Things Come in Threes
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: Kurt and Logan's first time. And, um, well the second first time, with added storm fronts. And just to cap it off, the third first time.
1. The First First Time

The first first time.

The first time I had young Mr Wagner's ass, we were alone in the high Canadian Rockies.

It started after Jeannie died on the moon.  
I was hurting so bad. So I went north, I went home. And he came too. I invited him.  
I'm not sure what I thought I was doing, but he sure as hell knew what he had in mind; he was the one who brought lube and rubbers. No innocent little virgin, my Elf.  
Didn't need rubbers, mutant healing factor hath its privilege, one of which was being able to ride that beautiful body bareback.

He met Mac and Heather, closest thing I had to family, he found out my name; I think even Kurt draws the line at screwing people he doesn't know the name of, though, given some of his pretty princesses, maybe not. We had a run in with the Wendigo, then it was just the pair of us, a rental truck and the midnight sun.

I laid out the bedrolls, next to each other, threw a unzipped sleeping bag over both of them, out under the stars, it was warm enough and we just lay there, drinking beer from the cooler, watching the stars and the occasional meteorite streak across the sky. There was too much light to really get the Milky Way, land of the midnight sun and all that.  
Eventually I got tired of his chatter and reached across and kissed him. Which shut him up, momentarily.

I was playing it very careful; he was all of twenty? Just a kid. I was a hard, dangerous old man, he really didn't know what he was getting into.

I didn't want him to feel pressured, uncomfortable, for all those women he went chasing after, I'd never seen him get interested a guy. But he was interested in me, I could smell it on him sometimes, after a workout or a training session.  
I could smell it then, the musk of arousal, his lips opened and I laid him down on the sleeping bag and his mouth was wet and sweet and, for a while, I forgot all the reasons that this was a bad idea and lost myself in the eager confidence of youth.

When we came up for air, he was flushed and breathless, which might have had something to do with my hand on his denim clad crotch.  
He was the strangest, most captivating thing I'd ever clapped eyes on. Still is.

He tilted his head, aware I'd stopped to just look at him. How many pretty girls had been with him just so they could 'fuck the freak'? Too many. I've never been good with words but I could show him that he could trust me. I moved my attention to his collar bone, breathing in the scent of him.  
"Stop thinking." I stripped off my shirt and helped him out of his, using the action to move my mouth across his chest, he was built like a dancer, thinner back then, but the strength in those long lean limbs was considerable. He twisted me round and I let him, I was twice his weight but I didn't want to scare him off.

He looked down at me and ran his hands over my pecs, I was a lot more man than he was used to in those adolescent fumblings with other kids in the dark. There was an edge of daring, as though he was touching a tiger and wasn't sure he was going to survive the experience.  
"I won't hurt you."  
He paused, bared his fangs and bit my shoulder. Little shit.

I taught him quite a lot over the next couple of nights.  
I taught him to trust me, that I really wouldn't hurt him in the sack. Taught him to tell me what felt good, what he enjoyed, what he didn't. He realised that he didn't like being pinned down for long, I was the first person he'd been with strong enough to really immobilise him and he panicked a bit, so I showed him how to break free from someone doing that to him. That particular move needed some explaining to Chuck in a later training session, I can tell you. I taught him how sensitive the base of his tail is, where it leaves his spine and curves out in a graceful arc, okay, I'm pretty sure he'd already figured that one out, but I showed him how much fun it was when someone else touched him there.  
I taught him where his prostrate was, what it felt like to have a finger up his ass when someone was giving him head. None of your pretty girls had done that to you, had they, bright boy?

And he taught me; I realised that I'd never actually made love with a guy before. Sex? Sure, sometimes a damn good fuck, sometimes just down and dirty, a hand job in a foxhole, a blowjob in a seedy motel. But this was different, mutual, relaxed.  
There was laughter too. Giggles even. From him, not me, obviously.

And on the third night I fucked him. Gently, on his side with me behind him and he relaxed and let me, tail coiled around my upper thigh, trembling every so slightly with excitement and arousal. So very young.

It would have been nice to say that we curled up together in the afterglow and lay there watching the Northern Lights dance across the sky... but I'd used half a bottle of lube prepping him and we were both sticky and a damn mess. So I threw him in the lake, which, even in summer was cold. He whipped his tail round my ankle and made sure I joined him; he absolutely hates being cold and wet. So do I. Brat.

Friends with benefits, nothing more, a casual bit of fun. No ties, no commitments.

Ha, ha, ha, yeah right.


	2. The Night He Came Back To Us

The second first time. The night he came back to us.

I left him on the rooftop. Brooding, lot of water under the bridge, lots of memories. Raising yourself from the dead is pretty impressive, even by X-Men standards, but Kurt, being Kurt, had to worry about his immortal soul and his place in the world. Me? I was happy as a clam just to have him back with us.

I hauled my aching old bones up to my current place in the world, which was Ororo's bed and we had a celebratory fuck. Not earth shattering superhero fucking, just gentle, familiar, thank-the-heavens-our-best-friend-is-back-with-us fucking. I was mostly asleep when the skylight opened with a familiar creak and a draft of cold night air followed.

He stood in the moonlight, a sculpture in silver and blue shadows, looking momentarily uncertain, as though he was doubting his welcome, then he clearly gathered his resolve and started to undress. Lying next to me, Ororo was positively smoldering. She opened her arms and he fell into them with what sounded very much like a sob.

And I watched him make love to her. I'd never seen him with a woman, and Ororo is quite a lot of woman, believe me. It was an education, this wasn't sex, this was an art form, treated with the same seriousness he gave to sword fighting or the trapeze.

He kissed his way down her lush body and had his head between her thighs so fast it must have made her head spin, she arched against the bed, her groping hand grasping my arm tightly, desperate for something to hold on to. Then he added one of his long, strong fingers to the mix, dipping it inside her and she was gone, never seen her come so hard or so fast. There was a blinding flash of lightning and crack of thunder overhead.

He kissed his way back up her body and slid his cock into her, she raised her knees and locked her ankles behind his back to pull him close. The long, powerful muscles in his thighs rippled under the blue velvet and he rolled his hips against her, I expected him to go off like a rocket, he seemed so close but he was struggling, head bowed, his broad shoulders starting to shake. I knew how to finish him, we'd had years of practice by then, I knew that lovely body as well as anyone on earth. I reached over and gently grasped the base of his tail and he came hard, I didn't need to do anything else his body just knew the sensation of me touching him there. Felt quite proud of myself.

He rolled off her and into my arms and the weight of him was so good, so right, Ororo reached over and stroked his hair and he buried his head into my shoulder. Our bright, clever lad, oh, how we had missed you.

Ororo slipped out of the bed and into the bathroom. She was back a minute or two later and pressed a half used tube of lube into my hand. Oh, god, his new body was four hours old, perfect, not a scar or blemish anywhere on it, except for a small crescent shaped cut he'd made on his palm, to seal the deal with blood. And I was hard as nails, I wanted him so badly.

He stirred in my arms, that awkward young kid I'd had in Canada was years gone, he moved like a panther, confidant in his skin, in his expertise, in what he wanted. And he wanted me. Eyes glowing like moons in the gloom, he kept them fixed on my face as he took the tube from me and opened it, squeezed lube onto his fingers, then reaching behind himself, supple, steady, he was lubing himself. For me. He squeezed the rest of the tube on my aching dick then brought his long leg over and sank down on me.  
It had to be painful; he was fresh, new, untouched. His head went back and he hissed. I put my hand on his thighs to try to stop him.  
"Darlin' don't, you'll hurt yourself." I managed, through gritted teeth, he felt so fucking good.  
And he growled at me, eyes glowing with something like fury, for a moment I was really scared he would damage himself, but then Ororo reached out and captured his chin in her hand, tearing his eyes away from mine and into her face.  
"Gentle." She breathed. "Gentle, Kurt."  
He shuddered, breath rapid through clenched teeth, then, as if under her spell, he relaxed and his body opened to me as it always did, muscles remembering previous nights in warm beds or out under the stars. He rode me, my hands on his thighs, his cock bouncing on my belly until Ororo took him in hand and finished him. I came so hard I saw stars at the sight and smell of him on my stomach, on her hand.  
An unearthly incubus, I couldn't have resisted him if my life depended on it.

In the morning, the magic was gone and he drilled me through the mattress, using only fucking butter for lube. Totally ruined the sheets, I had to buy 'Ro new ones. But worth it.

Just 'friends with benefits'? But I'd hurt so badly when he wasn't there, sometimes I wondered how long we, or more accurately, I, could keep pretending?


	3. Krakoa, Third Times A Charm

The third first time Krakoa, third time's a charm?

He doesn't actually 'port us from the pool, where we'd been fooling around, into the bed. He has developed some common sense over the years, not much, but some. We arrive in his shower, along with a gallon of muddy water and several water lilies, including the one behind his ear and an offended frog. I still have my hand on his dick and he's already half hard. The shower really is a warm waterfall. "Oh, that's, mm, distracting." He leans into me. "We, we could have ended up in the wall."  
"Nah, you're too good these days to make a rookie mistake like that." I'm working him faster now and his head is on my shoulder as he pants. "Too. Good." I mouth into his neck. He comes over my fist with a grunt of pleasure.

The bedroom is huge, vast windows open to the east, vines and flowers crawl everywhere.  
"Wow." The view is stunning. He stands behind me and wraps his arms about my neck. Safe, warm, very much alive, unlike two days ago, when we both took a swan dive into the Sun. Nice shiny new bodies for both of us this time. I push the dark thoughts away again. Safe now. "Who did you sleep with to get this fancy pad?"  
"Krakoa likes me."  
"So you're two timing me with a fuckin' island now?"  
"You have such a filthy mind, Krakoa loves me for my intellect."  
Chuck has some weird shit going on about _optimal and perfected _bodies. My Elf currently has the optimal and perfected body of a horny little goat, with the refactory period of a teenager. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, he's damn beautiful. And getting brave; he kissed me in front of everyone. Well, in front of family, who with the possible exception of Warren, already knew, but even so.

" 'I am half sick of shadows' "  
"Huh?" I grunt in my most erudite manner. I know it's a quote, but fuck knows where from.  
"I don't mind being open." He waves his hand in a vague manner, I interpret this to mean in an open relationship; he still does like his pretty princess', doesn't he. "I just don't want to be a secret anymore." His voice is no more than a whisper. Kurt's good with words, except when he isn't, when it comes to asking other people for something. When it comes to asking me.  
"Alright, hon'" He didn't need to explain, I knew what he meant. We'd kept this under the radar for years, I always claimed it was for his safety, because it was a big enough risk him just being my friend, it would have been pinning a huge target on his back to be more. He doesn't have any enemies, I have more than enough for both of us. And then, of course, there's my damn machismo. I'm the fucking Wolverine, I'm not soft on another guy. Except, of course, I am.

I kiss his long, strange, perfect fingers.  
His mouth nuzzles the back of my neck as his dick is hardening again.  
He shoves me onto the bed and climbs on top of me, nipping with those sharp little fangs, right where I like it.  
I assumed the position, Kurt doesn't often want to top, but, boy, is it worth it when he does. I know I'm too heavy for him, he's very flexible but I weigh twice what he does. I don't much care; doggy style, he can get in nice and deep. The purple veined with blue flowers make lube when crushed, not the yellow ones (soap) or the red ones (astringent, ow). How does he know this, and why is the bed wreathed in them? I swear to god they weren't there when we walked into the room, it's like the Island is pandering to his every whim. Creepy.

Oh, I am so ready for this, those long, elegant fingers, the strength of his legs, his beautiful, uncut, cock in me. He moves his hips like a snake, all the time his teeth are at my throat, across my back, sharp, teasing. He licks a broad stripe down my spine.  
His clever, wicked tail coils around me, milking me but he never breaks his stroke, I am his sole focus, it's very intense. I come first, all over that beautiful bed, he pulls out and finishes a few strokes later, across my back, marking me with his scent. He knows me so fucking well, knows exactly what I like.

We spoon up together, after another trip to the shower, things were getting sticky and I remember that first time in Canada, dumping him in the cold lake. All those years, not bad, for a casual little affair. Out of the shadows? We may be in for interesting times.

I become aware of a pair of tiny eyes, watching us. There's a frog on the pillow.  
"Elf... why is there a frog on your pillow?"  
"It came with us, from the pond. I've adopted him. Her. It."  
"It's distracting me."  
With a long suffering sigh, he rescues the little amphibian, returning it to the bathroom. "Come on, little chap, you are intimidating big, mean old Wolvie."

Now, back to business, was it the purple or the yellow flowers?


End file.
